The Shirt
by vanete druse
Summary: Why did Tony give McGee his shirt in Dead and Unburied? Slash, TMxTD.


Timothy McGee was not a cruel person. He hated to see anyone in pain, bleeding on him, whether they were a suspect or not. Sometimes these images would even go so far as to haunt him at night, simple scenes of blood and grimaces and tears that left a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But when he learned that the blood on his shirt from the bullet wound of a suspect was considered evidence and therefore unwearable, a certain giddy realization dawned on him and he had to suppress a blush and a grin. Being past the stage of vomiting at the sight and smell of decomposing gore, he had left his spare shirts at home. Yet he knew that one agent wasn't quite so assuming as he was. "I need to borrow one of your shirts, Tony."

Of course, Tony would joke about his 'blindingly' white chest and almost stop his heart with the fear that he would be wandering around the headquarters, showing off his untanned and unfit torso for all to see and possibly laugh at. He wished he knew why he was tortured so much, reduced to exhausted begging and sad eyes for even the simplest of matters. Tony had to understand what it was like for him, as he reminisced of high school gym class where he had to change in front of the handsome jocks with broad chests and lean legs. Strutting in front of him, attempting to get his eyes to wander just so they could add to their laughter at his chubby, pale form and assumed sexuality. Being right made them smug, and made McGee ashamed, even though his heart was racing and his head was feeling light at just the thought of the soft fabric that always laid so close to Tony's skin would be on his own, if only for a few hours of the day.

He couldn't possibly believe he was the only one who teased him for his affinity of technology and inability to communicate with other people, much less flirt, face to face. So why did he have to continue to do so as if McGee still needed to feel the sting?

And suddenly, Tony's hands flew up to his collar and the buttons were being pressed out of their holes and the warm fabric was being shoved into the square of his chest. The shirt off of Tony's back. He gulped nervously and began to pull it on, pretending like he wasn't eying the other man's bare chest, or breathing in just a little deeper whenever his arm was brought close enough to his face.

Timothy McGee couldn't help but wonder if this was another form of Tony's torture, or if he really was just that naive.

***

Tony DiNozzo didn't know what prompted him to give McGee the shirt he was wearing. It had just been an instinctual response to the junior agent's plea, instead of simply walking to his desk and pulling out the clean, folded shirt at the bottom of his drawer which happened to be reserved for instances like this. He supposed that if anyone asked now he could joke that he had spilled coffee or mustard and was now wearing a squeaky clean shirt while McGee ran around all dirty and gross while everyone was once again appalled but a little unsurprised at his cruelty towards the younger man.

But somehow he couldn't even believe himself. Probably because he knew he hadn't spilled anything on it. He had just stood beside McGee and took off his shirt, button by button, close enough to feel the lightest lick of the other agent's heat as he gave him the shirt with a goofy grin to cover up his own surprise, pretending that he couldn't see or feel the blush that was spreading across both of their faces. He quickly turned away to pull on his clean shirt, vaguely wondering if it was the male or female coworker whose eyes were following him, ignoring the fact that he actually had a preference.

Tony turned around to see McGee tucking in his shirt. A joke sprung up on the tip of his tongue involving a virus on his shirt but he swallowed it, deeming it too weak and stupid. If McUnfashionable wanted to tuck his shirt in, so be it. It wasn't his job to save the nerd's dignity.

Funny how his mind latched onto that one insignificant detail and blossomed from there. Cornering McGee, teasing him for his lack of fashion sense before grabbing his side, pulling the shirt out of his pants before moving his hands to the fabric behind and finally, towards the front, to ensure the shirt hang over the belt buckle, which his hands stopped at and began to linger on...

At this point he slapped himself on the back of his head and conjured Gibbs's voice in his head, telling him to get back to work. There was no need for this.

Tony DiNozzo couldn't help but wonder what McGee was doing in his shirt.

***

Night had fallen on the state of Virginia and the final last parts of the case had been processed just in time to catch up on some sleep. After running on caffeine and adrenaline for so long, McGee was finding it hard to settle down and so, instead, hunkered down into his computer chair for some mindlessly easy strategy games before bed.

He had hardly been logged in for ten minutes before the rambunctious knocking of a presence at his apartment door dragged his sore legs out of his chair and slowly shuffled to open it, bringing himself face to face with Tony. "What are you doing here, DiNozzo?"

"Making sure you haven't incinerated my Dolce Gabbana shirt. I already had that happen to me once already, you know."

But both men knew this was a lie. It was as plain as if McGee had said it with a stutter. "And while I'm here, I just have to say...who taught you how to dress?"

"What?"

Tony's hands were already had his sides, pulling bits of fabric gently out from under his tan trousers. "You tucked my shirt into your pants like some kind of grandpa. I mean, for someone who's such a supposed genius like yourself has to realize that shirts can be worn on the outside of pants."

"Well excuse me, DiNozzo, for being brought up to wear things in a clean and pristine way." McGee pushed away from Tony, attempting to jam the shirt back into his pants, despite the fact that a shower had been planned in the near future anyways. "Leaving your shirt loose is a sign of sloppy clothes."

"Oh, did your Navy father teach you that? Or was it the other little boy scouts you ran around with so much?"

McGee froze, and DiNozzo took this time to pull the shirt out completely, keeping the other man in place despite his struggles. "There."

"Why don't you just take it back now? You're complaining about it anyways." McGee snapped, yanking at the buttons in a way that almost made Tony weep for the stitches in his shirt. He slapped the junior agent's hands away and began pulling it off himself, with a softness McGee didn't know he possessed.

When those same large hands fell on his belt buckle, beginning to tug at that with the same gentle motions, all McGee could do was tense until the realization dawned on him what, exactly, Tony was doing. "No, DiNozzo." A hand against his chest, pushing him off. "No." Opening the door and practically shoving him out. "Go."

With the door bolted shut, his apartment silent, and the button on his trousers undone, Timothy McGee didn't even stop to wonder why Tony DiNozzo would do such a thing. He was too preoccupied with why he had stopped him from doing it.


End file.
